Chapter 26
Akilov wasn’t running for the helicopter.
He was walking straight toward them, flanked by two of his musclemen, their weapons raised.
He pressed the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
He threw the weapon aside. The backup handguns Max had given him were still in the dive room.
Blood from the cut above his eyebrow ran into one eye, but he ignored it. “Jen, Caro.” He kept his voice level. “Stay inside.”
Akilov was only ten feet away.
There was nowhere to go. The lifeboat was cover, not escape.
Five.
If he waited until Akilov was close enough—
Three.
Jen burst out of the lifeboat, metal flashing in his peripheral vision. She was right beside him—too close and exposed, an emergency flare gun in her hand.
Jen—
She fired.
The world flamed crimson as the flare struck Akilov full in the face.
His scream was high and raw, the agony of a wounded animal.
The men at his side stalled for a second, distracted. Akilov stumbled backward, his hands clawing at his face, at the burning phosphorus eating through flesh.
The stink of burning meat hit Wyatt in the face, carried on the wind. Jen dropped the flare gun, her hand clamping over her mouth, her eyes wide.
Christ. She’d stepped into the line for him.
Akilov’s men pivoted at the clatter of the flare gun, their focus once more back on Wyatt and Jen.
“Inside!” Wyatt shoved her inside, yanking the door closed behind him as a round sparked off the hull. The locking wheel turned under his hands. More bullets hammered the hull. He wasn’t hanging around to see if they could hammer their way in through sheer firepower.
“Strap in!” He yelled, swinging into the pilot’s seat. He grabbed the red-painted release mechanism with both hands.
Caro was already pasty-faced and buckled into a forward seat.
Jen fumbled with her harness. “I’m in.”
A bullet hit a porthole. The glass cracked but held, spiderwebs spreading across the surface.
Another impact.
One more shot and they’d breach it.
Wyatt yanked the lever. The mechanism made a sound like tearing metal.
The capsule jolted.
Dropped.
His stomach lurched, as if his insides were a step behind the fall.
Zero gravity. His body slammed against the harness straps.
The sensation of free-fall blasted through every nerve. He’d done airborne training. Jumped from planes.
But this—
No chute. No control. Just gravity, speed, and a forty-five degree drop into the ocean at terminal velocity.
The world blurred into streaks.
Rain. Metal structure. Storm.
The capsule shook—a savage rattling that traveled through his bones.
Sound compressed. His own heartbeat. Jen’s sharp inhale. Caro’s scream.
The ocean rushed up to meet them.
Don’t let this kill her.
Two seconds.
Three.
They hit the water.
The impact was a freight train. Wyatt slammed forward against the harness, his head jerking forward and colliding with his chest. Blood filled his mouth instantly, and the straps bit into his chest and shoulders. Stars burst white across his vision.
The capsule went under.
The ocean claimed them, and the light was instantly green-black, the temperature plunging in tandem.
Fuckfuckfuck—
His ears popped as they sank and pressure built, metal grumbling around them as it adjusted to the depth. His brain reengaged now it realized he was still alive.
We’re still sinking.
Come on.
His fingers gripped the armrest so hard he was sure he would dent the metal.
Come on. Come on.
The descent slowed.
A deep vibration boomed from deep within the craft. The emergency buoyancy systems, discharging compressed air chambers in the hull. The capsule leveled.
Started rising.
Caro half screamed, half laughed. “We’re going back up.”
He worked his throat through a sandy swallow as the pressure changed again, the green light lightening from black to ocean green. And then they bobbed free, surfacing to the open ocean, rocking violently from side to side, water sluicing the windows.
We’re floating.
Fuck yes.
He hit the engine start, and the motor coughed, then caught. The small propeller engaged, and he pointed them away from the rig, toward open water.
Jen bent forward in her seat, her back shaking.
“We made it,” Caro clutched her straps, her eyes white in the gloom. “Bloody hell and a half. We actually made it. We actually freaking made it.”
Through the rain-streaked window, NORPAC-7 stood dark against the storm. Searchlights swept across the deck as two Seahawks hovered overhead, black against the clouds. Figures fast-roped down onto the platform.
More SEALs. Reinforcements.
He unclipped his restraints. Jen still hadn’t said anything.
She was sitting back up, but staring at Seven through the small window.
He climbed over to join her. “Jen.”
When she didn’t respond, he took her chin in his hand and turned her face to him. “Hey. You with me?”
Her eyes focused on him.
“I shot him in the face.” Her voice was hollow. “I shot a man in the face with a flare gun.”
“You saved my life.” His thumb traced her cheekbone. “Again.”
“He would have killed you.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Akilov. He would have killed you and taken me anyway.”
“Maybe.” He traced the softness of her cheek. “But he was coming for you and I couldn’t let him do that.”
The hum of the motor and the crash of water on the hull filled the space between them.
“You didn’t have to do that.” She blinked, tears turning her eyes luminescent.
“Yes. I did.”
She blinked. “We made it because of you.”
“You’re here.” He smiled. “That’s what matters.”
Jen exhaled, her lips trembling. She didn’t move away from his hand on her cheek—and fuck, it felt good there.
The radio crackled to life. “Lifeboat Alpha-seven. This is Coast Guard One-Nine-Zero-Nine. Do you copy?”
Wyatt bumped his forehead against hers—the same way he had in the water, but without acrylic between them. Just skin and warmth. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, pressing against the softness of her hair for a second. “I’ve got you.”
He pulled back and lifted the receiver. “Rescue One-Nine-Zero-nine, this is Alpha-Seven. We copy.”
“Holy fuck. Wyatt is that you?”
Wyatt closed his eyes. He shook his head and allowed himself an exhausted smile. “Ryder. You on medical?”
“Fuck, yes. Mom’s been worried out of her mind.” Static crackled. “Caleb owes me fifty bucks. I said you couldn’t stay out of trouble for a whole exercise.”
“I was on routine patrol.”
“And yet.” A pause. Ryder’s voice dropped to a more serious note. “You good, brother?”
Wyatt glanced at Jen. At Caro. To the rig in the distance where SEALs were moving deck by deck. Clearing and securing.
His thigh throbbed where the knife wound had been glued. His ribs ached. His head pounded from the free-fall impact, and he was blinking blood out of one eye.
But Jen was alive. Looking at him with an emotion in her eyes he couldn’t quite name.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m good.”
“How many souls in that lifeboat with you?”
“Two. Minor injuries. We’re stable.”
“Copy that. Sit tight. We’ll have our best rescue swimmer to you in ten minutes.” Ryder’s voice carried a smile now.
“Caleb?”
“Of course.” Another pause. Static hissed. “And Wyatt? Soon as you hit dry land, call Mom.”
The radio clicked off.
Wyatt set the handset back in its cradle.
Jen stared at him. “You have brothers.”
“Two.” He climbed back into the pilot’s seat and checked their heading. “And a sister who keeps us all in line.”
“Family business?”
“Something like that.” He met her eyes. Held them. “Mom was glad when we all left the Navy. Thought the Coast Guard was safer.”
Caro made a strangled sound, clutching at her bandaged arm. “Yeah right. Death falls in lifeboats, bullets, flare guns to the face. Your mom must be thrilled.”
The corner of Wyatt’s mouth twitched. Don’t tell her that. But the words stuck in his throat.
Jen was still shaking, but her eyes were clear now—locked on his. Like she’d decided. She unclipped her safety belt and climbed over the seats toward him.
She took the seat next to him and took his hand. Her fingers curled around his. Held on.
He tightened his grip on her fingers.
A small, knowing smile crossed Caro’s face before she turned to look out the window, giving them what privacy a lifeboat could offer.
For the first time in years, he wasn’t just surviving the op. He was living something worth surviving for.
He’d already decided.
He wasn’t letting her go.